


It Was A Very Good Year

by Vermin_Disciple



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Not A2A Compliant, Old Age, Post-Series, Timey-Wimey, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You enjoying playing chauffeur for a change, Miss Daisy?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was A Very Good Year

**Author's Note:**

> This existed in my writing folder for ages as 'Old Sam and Gene Ficlet.' It's old in two senses: 1) Sam and Gene are both old in it, and 2) it was one of the very first LoM things I ever wrote. Specifically, it was the third thing, and my earliest real attempt at writing banter between the two of them.* I was never quite pleased with it, or always thought the basic plot (such as it is) was too cliché, so I never posted it. There were bits of it I liked that I kept thinking I might use in something else, but since that hasn't happened and probably won't, I figure I might as well just post it as-is for the archives. 
> 
> Completely ignores the existence of A2A. 
> 
> *My first two fics in this fandom, not counting a drabble or two, were [Convergence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/73586), which revolves entirely around Sam Williams and ends just before our Sam Tyler effectively takes over his life, and [Tin Star](http://archiveofourown.org/works/76214), in which Gene is about 19. Hence the lack of Sam-Gene interaction prior to this ficlet.

Gene watched as Sam pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, turned the key slowly in the ignition, and looked both ways like a good boy, driving exactly like every other old fart Gene had ever honked or shouted at in his long history as a driver. A bloody good driver, at that. If this was some form of retribution, then someone out there had a nasty sense of humor. 

That, or Sam was doing it on purpose just to annoy him. Gene wasn't sure. It was difficult to tell the difference between Sam being a complete berk and Sam being a complete berk whose singular goal in life was to annoy Gene Hunt. 

He shook the bag of assorted pills that he had just picked up at the chemist's, searching through them as they rattled, and wondering if there was anything in there that would make the world speed up. Finding nothing of interest, he dropped the bag unceremoniously in his lap and crossed his arms, glaring at the lines on the road. 

Sam must have glanced over at him, because he smirked, almost furtively. 

"You enjoying playing chauffeur for a change, Miss Daisy?" he snapped.

"I'm the one going out of my way to give you a hand, you know."

"You're only here because you have nothing better to do with your shriveled arse than to parade around in this undersized, poncy excuse for a car like a posh bird showing off her new poodle. I didn't ask for your help. I don't _need_ your help."

He didn't have to look over to know that Sam was rolling his eyes, in that "I can't think of a clever response to that so I'm going to pretend that I'm above it all" way of his. He could practically hear the raising of eyebrows. Gene sometimes wondered how he did it, how Sam entrenched himself so firmly in your head that you had to develop Tyler-sense to manage him. Or maybe the last 30 years had driven him nearly as barmy as Sam. 

"You _do_ need my help. You don't have your license anymore, remember?"

"'Course I remember. I've got cataracts, not bloody dementia."

"Just because you're retired, doesn’t mean that the law ceases to apply to you, you know." 

"You're the one who's speeding, Gladys." 

"I am not." 

"What's the speed limit, then?" 

"If you don't know, then you're not exactly in a position to criticize." 

"At least I know where I am. You just took the wrong turn-off."

"No, it's a shortcut."

"It bloody well is not. Know this city like the back of me hand, and you are going the wrong way."

"Fiver says I'm not."

"Tenner says you are." 

"I know exactly what I'm doing," said Sam, in an oddly distant voice. His full attention had evidently diverted back to the road. Gene stared straight ahead, waiting petulantly for Sam to miss a sign or turn the wrong way. The only thing that made getting old and useless remotely bearable was watching your friends get old and useless as well.

Up ahead of them, some div had parked his motor on the side of the street. He was standing there, using his car for support as if the weight of the world would topple him otherwise. Then, he turned.

It happened so quickly, Sam didn't slam down on the breaks until after they'd made contact. There were several sickening thuds as the man rolled off their bumper. 

"Shit! Christ, Sam, why the bloody hell didn't you stop?"

"He came out of nowhere," said Sam, in monotone. There was something wrong with the way he said it. He didn't sound numb from shock, he sounded like he was reciting something he'd memorized. "I couldn't stop." Then his voice cracked, and Gene shook himself. They had to do something, and now wasn't the time to contemplate Sam's daft proclivities. He grabbed Sam's mobile off the dashboard. 

He fiddled with the buttons, cursing. Stupid useless thing. "Here, Sam, you speak techno-whatsits, you can-" He stopped. Sam wasn't in the car. 

Gene got out slowly, wincing at the twinge of an old achy stiffness in his leg. He wondered how Tyler could still move so fast. He looked around. 

Sam was standing by the man on the ground, and saying something Gene couldn't hear. He wasn't fussing over him or checking his pulse or any of the things he always did when something like this happened. He was just standing there, staring off into the distance and talking, as if to himself. Mad old bastard, thought Gene. His mind was going. Not that anyone would notice. 

"He looks a bit like you," said Gene, once he had shuffled his way over to Sam and the young and hopefully-not-dead-yet stranger. "Like you used to look, anyway, before you turned into an oversized raisin." He held out the mobile. "Here, call a bus, before the bugger dies. I'm too damn old for that kind of paperwork." 

Sam didn't answer, or take the phone. He just stood there, staring silently at the man lying unconscious on the pavement. 

"Oi! Tyler! Have your brains receded as much as your hair line? Take the bloody phone, and call the bloody ambulance!" 

Sam snapped out of it, whatever it was. He took the mobile and flipped it open. "It helps if you turn it on first, Guv."

"I did. I pushed the button."

"You've got to hold it down for a minimum of five seconds."

Gene rolled his eyes. "Not my fault the thing's as temperamental as you are."

After the call had been made, Sam stuck the mobile in his pocket and, with another glance at the man on the pavement, said, "I don't fancy sticking around, do you?" 

"What, you mean just bugger off and leave him here?" 

"He'll be alright." Sam crossed his arms, trying to look vaguely defiant and mostly just looking sulky. He did sound certain, though. No dithering about doing the right thing or following the proper procedure as outlined in Section 13 subsection C – it was downright bizarre. 

Gene raised his eyebrows. They could hear sirens in the distance. Sam uncrossed his arms and suddenly looked less confident and more agitated. "I've got cones in the boot – I'll set them out so no one else hits him." 

That was a bit more Sam-like. Gene felt the man's pulse as Sam went back to the car. His knees protested loudly, but he ignored them the way he always ignored impertinent whining. The man's eyelids fluttered, but aside from that, the only sign of life was his shallow breathing, and it had taken Gene a moment to see that. He examined the man's face. The resemblance was striking. He wondered if Sam had any illegitimate children out there that he'd never mentioned. 

Probably not. While Sam could be a right wanker, he was the sort who took care of his own. 

They waited in the car until they saw the flashing of lights and heard the roar of sirens coming round the bend. As they drove away, he turned to watch the paramedics arrive. He couldn't help feeling that there was something left unsaid. There was something Sam had neglected to tell him about this. Of that he was almost certain. 

It annoyed the hell out of him. 

_Finis_


End file.
